


A Compulsion

by RedOutCold (orphan_account)



Category: Batman (Comics), Batman: The Animated Series
Genre: Angst, F/F, F/M, Gore (Mild), Implied Sexual Content, Minor Violence, Miscarriage, Obsessive Behavior, Past Domestic Violence, Running Away, Sexual Tension
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-02
Updated: 2018-07-02
Packaged: 2019-05-26 08:28:35
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,485
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14996855
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/RedOutCold
Summary: Harley has an odd fixation on a certain red head.





	A Compulsion

**Author's Note:**

> Alright, boring summary, but I didn't want to give away too much. The story does contain the subject of violence, miscarriage, obsessive behavior (still not %100 sure, but this is a fanfic, so...) and all that jazz. If anything in the tags upset you, please don't read. I doubt this fic is going to be anything super gruesome or harsh, but I am giving you a fair warning. Anywho, I hope you enjoy!

Red was Harley's favorite color. 

Well, it was _becoming_ Harley's favorite color. 

She used to be a fan green. Green was wild, exciting, and it gave her this weird sort of rush in her chest. Green made her _feel_. 

But there was something about red, though. Something...ethereal? Pretty? It could be both, but there was also something about it that felt smoldering. Like all the pent up emotions she was holding onto were ready to boil over any second. 

The green skin wasn't helping either. 

Harley knew she was staring, had been staring for awhile. Her eyes felt a dry. 

The orange jumpsuit looked freaking ridiculous on her, it was downright awful. She sat curled up on a rocking chair in the corner of the room, furthest from the rest of the crazies. Harley wondered if she knew she was being stared at. Red hair fell over her face like a curtain as she sat toward the window almost rigidly. Harley couldn't tell if she was ignoring her or if she was peeping at her through the hair strands. The latter gave Harley comfort. 

"Oooh, someone's feeling lovey dovey, _hmm?_ " 

Zsasz's heated breath brushed over her ear. Harley swatted him away. 

"Shut up, pea-brain," she hissed. Zsasz slithered over the armrest and onto the love-seat beside Harley. From his lazy movements, Harley could tell that he was on his meds. She suspected that his doctor probably prescribed him something stronger than usual. 

"Naughty, naughty, Harley. I didn't think you were _that_ kind of girl," Zsasz slurred, suggestively wriggling his eyebrows.

"Go away, you moron," Harley said firmly. She pushed away his swaying body, rolling him off the couch and onto the floor. This simple and annoying interaction caught the attention of the guards in the room, two of them eyeing Harley darkly from the exit. 

Harley blushed. All of her actions had been weird up until now. But for some reason, the presence of the guards made her feel...exposed. She started to worry if she had creeped out the red head.  

"Does Joker know?" Zsasz mumbled from the floor. He rolled onto his back and stared at her with his crazed gray eyes. 

He continued, "He doesn't strike me as the kind of fellow to be into a little girl on girl play. Won't he be jealous?"

Harley was tempted to stomp on his face, ruthlessly in fact. She wanted to break his teeth, she wanted to hear the crunch of his jaw under her foot. She wanted to teach him a lesson. 

But that would spoil everything. 

The guards would snatch her away, drug her up and lock her in her cell for weeks. The recreational room was the little bit of freedom she had in Arkham, she wasn't willing to sacrifice that. She wasn't willing to sacrifice seeing _her_. 

Her name was Pamela Isley. 

She overheard some guards joking about a 'mental case plant lady' outside of her cell awhile back. Gotham coined her as Poison Ivy—or Poison Oak, she wasn't sure. Either way, the nickname wasn't all that scary. In fact, _she_ wasn't all that scary. 

Harley remembered seeing her in the cafeteria. Green skin and red wild hair, she was hard to miss. She had a whole table to herself, the rest of the tables appeared sparse near her. Harley knew immediately that she was _dangerous_. 

But why? She didn't _look_ all that intimidating. And this was Arkham, everyone was dangerous, everyone was a threat. What's one green broad? 

Harley remembered making her way towards the red head with all the intentions to size her up, if only for curiosity sake. 

Someone snagged her arm, a nameless face. The action was so abrupt and bold, she wasn't sure how to respond. But what really threw her for a loop was the intense look in the stranger's eyes. His eyes were almost pleading. 

 _Don't._  

Admittingly, it spooked Harley. She snatched her arm back and turned away, away from the obnoxiously red mess of hair. Embarrassment crawled up her nape, she felt like a coward. 

But...a part of her felt enticed.

The part that was usually reserved for the Joker. 

"Oh, ho, ho, ho. Maybe he _is_ into that. He's full of surprises, after all," Zsasz said, snapping Harley back into the present. 

"How about ya mind your own business, Victor," Harley said hushed. She looked back up and felt disappointment weigh her shoulders down. 

The rocking chair was empty. 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Blood dried under her fingernails.

Harley sighed as she stared down at her handiwork. The flesh above her pubic mound was raw. Pink meat glistened with blood.

She tugged at her bed sheets and pressed the bundle onto the open wound. Doctor Leland would give her an earful once the guards see the mess she had made again.

To say the least, this little habit of hers was peculiar. It started shortly after being detained for the umpteenth time, a kinda weird tick that would nag her every now and then. The first time she acted on it, the guards were horrified and disgusted. She remembered the complete bewilderment on Leland's face as she sat frozen behind her desk.

Harley was just as puzzled and grossed out. She wasn't like Zsasz, this wasn't her MO and she didn't enjoy it either.

She hissed as she rolled onto her side. She didn't even want to imagine what the ugly scratches would like in the morning.

_My, my! Look at all that blood!_

Harley squeezed her eyes shut and clenched the sheets even tighter.

_Clean it up quickly. I believe our little detective is sniffing out our trail. Oh, I'd hate for our fun to be short-lived._

Harley opened her eyes and stared at the wall, at the chipped white paint and the cement underneath.

Sitting on the bathroom floor with numb legs, she remembered what it looked like. Her jester pants had been tossed in the bathtub to rinse, not that it would do much anyways. The water ran a suspicious yellow hue.

It looked like a blood clot.

Harley could've easily chalked it up to that time of the month. They were irregular and often short. Even during her wild escapades she'd barely notice the whisper of cramps in her lower abdomen. To an untrained eye, it just looked like a really thick blood clot.

Though, the longer Harley stared at it the more...unusual it appeared.

Blood clots didn't have arms.

She was crazy, but she wasn't _that_ crazy. If she tilted her hands back and forth gently, she could spy a tiny form under the sheen of the bathroom light. The Joker's maniacal laughter fell to the background as the realization choked her. It didn't move.

How long, though? She hadn't felt sick before, she hadn't felt _anything_. Harley thought about all the restless shenanigans, all the beatings she took without complaint. She never really had a moment to think about herself. The Joker never gave her a moment.

Anger and grief mounted into tears. Her face felt hot. She ignored the growing crescendo of the Joker's voice from behind the door. He would've kick the knob loose if he hadn't been so caught up with his own schemes. Batman was his favorite priority, after all. 

It didn't matter. She remembered pushing herself up, ignoring the sticky feeling between her thighs. She stared dazedly as the red mass slid off her hands and into the toilet bowl. 

Numbness overcame her at the sound of the flush. 

" _Goddamit Quinn!"_  

Harley jolted up sharply and gasped at the pain throbbing in her lower abdomen. A guard appeared through the small window of her door cell. 

"Jesus, woman!" the guard sighed. "The hell are we going to do with you?"

She looked down to see a good portion of her suit and sheets covered in blood. The guard disappeared from her door, probably to alert the rest of the faculty. Harley knew she wouldn’t hear the end of it from Leland. 

She really needed to stop this. 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Pamela was a very beautiful woman. 

It was far more evident now than ever. Under the shower-head where they were both exposed, Harley felt all the more closer to her. 

Community showers were usually the crap end of her day. She hated them, even skipped out on a few at days at a time. It's not like she didn't like being clean, she just had a distaste for the lingering stares, be it her body or her scars. 

Though this time around, Harley disregarded some of the rubbernecking. Despite the obscurity of the steam, she stood maybe some thirty feet away from Pamela. 

She was green _everywhere_. It shouldn’t have been as jarring as it was, it was just skin. Plus, Harley’s seen some pretty weird shit that would easily top Poison Ivy’s condition. 

Harley fought a smile. 

Still, how often can she say she’s seen a green nipple before? 

She pretended to focus on bathing while peering at the red head from her peripheral. Pamela seemed to pay little attention to Harley's proximity. 

Right off the bat, Harley knew she wasn’t a fighter. Pamela’s slender form and gentle curves were far too  _soft_ to be a physical threat. Unlike Harley’s seasoned body, this Poison Ivy gal didn’t show any indication of being the muscle of the crimes she’s committed. So, what was she capable of, exactly? 

Curiosity wandered a bit as she gazed more openly. Red hair sticked to green skin, barely covering perky breasts. The soft protrusion of collar bones glistened under the sheen of water. Hip dips swayed slightly with each little action. 

_Oooh, someone’s feeling lovey dovey, hmm?_

Sighing, she turned her attention to the tiles in the wall. Harley was thankful for the water because now she was wet in more ways than one. If she stayed any longer, the pent up frustration would only become a sorry pain in the ass.

She walked off without stopping the shower at her station. The community showers were connected to the changing facilities. Hardly any guards ever bothered to monitor the changing area, especially the women’s. Harley was the only woman to leave the showers, leaving her to be the only person in the changing area. 

She yanked one of the locker’s open for her jumpsuit. Grabbing it, an old meldewy smell wafted from the fabric. Harley’s nose crinkled. No matter how many times it’s been washed, that smell just seemed to stick.

Dropping the suit on a nearby bench, she snagged a towel from a loose rod on the wall. As she aggressively rubbed her scalp dry, she failed to hear the wet footsteps slapping behind her. 

“I’d have thought you’d be the last person to leave.” 

The voice was unfamiliar. Harley turned around to see Pamela standing a couple of feet away. 

Harley did her best to keep her eyes from traveling below her face. The red head didn’t bother to grab one of the many towels hanging around the room. Instead, she stalked closer. Something in the way she walked told Harley to be wary. 

“What makes ya say that?” Harley asked. She didn’t miss the way Pamela’s lips curled at her heavy accent.  

“You seem to have a weird habit of eyeballing me,” she said, hostility creeping into her tone. “Am I that interesting to you?” 

“I think a chick with green skin is bound to get some lookers,” Harley replied calmly. 

Pamela stopped inches from her face. A deep scowl settled on her features as she stared Harley down. 

"Yes," she said sharply. "I get them. But, you want to know something interesting? After awhile, they get _bored_. People aren't fazed by my appearance everytime they see me. You, on the other hand, are the exception to that." 

"Is that a crime?" Harley said, matching her hostility. 

Pamela glared at her. A few moments passed by in heated silence as Harley considered knocking her out. Despite the...uncanny attraction she had for her, she refused to bow down to her or anyone for that matter. The days of being a doormat were over. And Harley has yet to really know what Poison Ivy _can_ do. 

The malice evaporated from Pamela’s face. She didn’t back away from Harley’s space, though. 

“You’re the hench girl for that clown maniac. Harley Quinn, is it?” 

“Harley,” Harley said. “Just call me Harley. And I’m not with him anymore.” 

“Really? He doesn’t seem like the kind to leave loose ends,” Pamela replied curiously. “I’m Pamela, though I’m sure you already knew. Call me Ivy.” 

“Pleasure to meet ya,” Harley said, outstretching a hand as far as the space between them would allow. Ivy took it without a second thought. 

“Maybe,” Ivy began. “You could sit with me in the rec. I’m sure you’ll find talking to me could be far more interesting than staring at me.” 

Harley blushed. Had she really been that obvious? She’s been a little more than consumed since a certain clown had lost her affection. 

A warm breeze graced her cheek. She felt lips graze the corner of her mouth lightly. 

”Or maybe you had other things in mind?” Ivy sighed softly. She ran fingers down Harley’s arms teasingly and took a step _closer_ , close enough that Harley had to be mindful to not brush her nipples against Ivy’s. 

Harley’s never been _seduced_ before. No one has ever attempted to...do that kind of thing to her. Outside of flustering, she wasn’t really sure how to react to being on the receiving end of this. Ivy picked up on it and backed away, chuckling. 

“I’m just messing with you,” she said. She walked away to grab a towel from the same rickety rod that Harley had used. She wrapped it around her lithe form and stride toward the exit. She paused and looked over her shoulder. 

“I’ll see you around, Harley.” 

The door swung closed and Harley immediately crouched down, covering her face. Her cheeks felt hot against her palms. Her towel slid off her shoulders and onto the dirty floor. 

So...that happened. 

Harley bit her bottom as she glanced up.  Steam wafted from the showers. She was once again the only person in the changing unit. 

Reaching down, her hand traveled between the crease of her inner thighs. She felt the slight wetness coating the sensitive folds. She bit back a moan when she slipped a finger inside herself. The tightness made her all the more hot. 

She had a few minutes to herself before the other women would finish their session. 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

"You can talk to plants?"

Ivy nodded absent-minded as she continued to braid her hair. They were in the recreational room, more or less segregated in the corner with the rocking chair. Harley was sitting cross-legged beside Ivy's feet, idly teasing the cuffs of her suit. 

"Can they talk to you?" Harley asked. 

"Mmm, yes and no," Ivy murmured distractedly. "I can't hear their voices, but I can feel their thoughts, their emotions. It's hard to explain, it's almost like they're...speaking a different language. But I understand everything they communicate to me." 

Harley didn't get it. It all sounded bizarre, even for her. 

"Is that all you can do?" Harley pressed. "I mean, being a plant whisperer doesn't sound all that...I dunno, tough. _Vicious_ , I guess."

Ivy paused her motions midway an unfinished braid, now staring at Harley. The way Ivy held her stare made Harley wish she had kept her stupid mouth shut. 

"You sound disappointed," Ivy replied. "What exactly were you expecting from me?" 

"I—it's just—," Harley stumbled over her words. "There's gotta be a reason why some people 'round here are _scared_ of ya, right? I mean...it's not all in my head."

Harley still felt the twinge of embarrassment as Ivy resumed braiding her hair, coming to the end of the strands. After a moment, Ivy continued.

"I used to be a botanist," she said. "In Seattle, I was an underling for a professor. A... _mishap_ occurred that brought me to this predicament. I can communicate to plants, but I can also engineer them. I can make them do _damage_ , Harley. And the fact that these humans feel safe, that they can simply _control_ me—"

Ivy stopped herself, closing her eyes. Harley watched her jaw tick and her hands clench repeatedly. Sitting there, Harley felt like she was staring at a pot of boiling water, anticipating the moment when it would spill over and burn everything in sight. It was a little frightening. 

But it was also exciting. 

"Sooo...killer plants, sounds groovy," Harley said, trying to lighten the mood. "I'm trying to picture it. So, can ya like, mutate junk? Like a...whatsit called? A fly trap?"

"The Venus fly trap," Ivy corrected, simmering down. "And yes, I most certainly can. Though my traps aren't typically made with flies in mind." 

On that ominous note, Harley decided to pull back on the questions. She uncrossed her legs and stretched them out on either side of Ivy's chair. She leaned back on her elbows and allowed her mind to zone out for a moment, staring a the cracks in the ceiling. 

A psychiatrist and a botanist. The professions were worlds apart, but it was funny to think of all the folks with the "noble" careers being the ones filling up Arkham to the brim. In a weird way, she and Ivy weren’t all that different. 

 _‘cept for the green skin and the talkin’ evil plants_ , Harley thought as a guard approached them. 

Sitting back up, Harley recognized the guard. He was a lanky blonde with a snooty attitude. He started working day shift at Arkham about three weeks ago, usually handling female patients despite sharp criticisms from Leland. He was flirtatious with the somewhat sane female patients and ignored the male patients altogether. Harley couldn’t stand him. He was a shitty guard. 

"Ladies," he started lightly. "What are you two doing by your lonesomes?"

Ivy ignored him and stared out the window with a brooding look. Harley briefly wondered if the two ever interacted before, Ivy hasn't been a patient at Arkham any longer than the blonde guard who started working. 

"Minding our own. You should probably do the same, asshole," Harley replied in a snarky tone. 

And like a switch, the fake chirpiness was replaced with an overall disgusted glare. Harley met it with equal intensity. 

"The Joker's little _tramp_. I'd imagine seeing you with bruises, you're overdo for some anyway," the guard said snidely. 

"You betta count ya lucky stars there's cameras around," Harley said smoothly. "Your tongue would've been gone after 'tramp.'"

"Whatever," the guard snorted. 

He disregarded Harley and turned all of his gross charm onto Ivy who was still staring out the window. He loomed over her, arm resting against the chair. Harley felt irked by his proximity, how his face was inches away from Ivy's. Despite Ivy's obvious disinterest, Harley still wanted to gut punch him. 

 _Get away from her_ , she thought darkly as her nails dug into the floor. He leaned closer to Harley's mounting anger.

"It's been awhile since we a...you know...," the guard whispered lowly beside her ear. Ivy blinked slowly and sighed. She didn't quite turn to him, instead glancing at Harley for a moment with an indecipherable look. Harley recognized it from the few times Joker would zone out in the middle of playful banter. It was a mind at work. 

"Take me somewhere private this time," Ivy said, standing up. He grabbed her wrist and started to lead her away from chair, away from Harley. 

"Wha—," Harley snapped. "You're just gonna leave? Already?" 

Ivy didn't bother to look back. Growing hot with rage, Harley was tempted to jump up and snatch her arm, to make her _stay_. She was surprised at the severity of her own emotions right then, though she felt it more fiercely when the blonde guard glanced back and graced her with the most punch worthy smirk she's ever seen. 

They left the recreational room. Harley didn’t get up. 

She wanted to claw his eyes out. 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Harley wanted to rip the bandages off. 

Of course, she didn't though. Leland tore her a new one after being dragged to the infirmary by damn near the whole faculty. 

Her little scratching problem festered into an ugly infection, and the fact that she refused to eat after Ivy's unexplained disappearance did not help in the least. Harley dismissed it at first, certain that it was minor and that it'd take care of itself. However, when she laid down on the hard bed in her cell, she felt a sort of wetness smear under her shirt. Lifting it up, she almost gagged at the sight. The scabs had reopened with blood and pus seeping out.

Harley couldn't quite recall the moment she fainted. 

There were two female nurses looming near her, one checking her temperature while the other adjusted the window ajar beside her bed. The one nurse carelessly shoved a thermometer into her mouth, scratching the tissue inside of her cheek. 

"Hey!" Harley hollered. "Careful with that damn thing! Ya trying to put a hole in ma cheek?"

The nurse proceeded to withdraw the thermometer from her mouth, ignoring Harley. She examined the stick with raised eyebrows.

"Your temperature reads 103.2 Fahrenheit. You don't even _look_ sick," the nurse exclaimed. 

"I don't feel sick either," Harley grumbled. "It's such a doozy that maybe you should just let a gal go—"

"Absolutely not," the other nurse said. "You're not talking your way out of this, Quinzel. We're not taking shit from Leland because you want to dick around."

Harley smacked her lips and crossed her arms. She toyed with the idea of knocking out the nurses and jumping out the window. Sadly though, Arkham's been receiving hell of support from Bruce Wayne, which included upping the security from Wayne Tech. She wouldn't even make it across the court yard without getting zapped. 

The nurses walked away towards the sink area in the corner of the room from across her infirmary bed. There was no reason for both of them to be there and they had already sterilized all their utensils. 

 _They're just gossiping,_ Harley thought bitterly. 

The nurses whispered softly in each other's ears, looking over their shoulders every now and then. Harley rolled her eyes. It had to be the nature of her scratches, it was no secret among the faculty that Harley had suffered from a...miscarriage. Leland often tried talk therapy to coerce her into confronting it. She even went as far as to place Harley in close proximity with the _Joker's_ cell, of all things. None of it ever helped, in fact the whole Joker tactic made it worse. 

Harley _wanted_ to stop, though. She wanted to stop and forget about the whole the incident. She was tired of feeling that tick, that weird craving that would pester her until she gave in.

 _Maybe I should tear my nails off,_ she thought as a guard kicked the door open, startling her and the nurses. 

"Randy's missing," the guard huffed. 

"What?" A nurse yelped. "What're you talking about? He went on his lunchbreak—" 

"—and the inmates are out! Someone tampered with security! There's fucking shit everywhere and we can't get to the damn phones—"

The guard stopped abruptly. Harley felt her eyes bug out when she noticed the tip of a sharp object protruding underneath the skin of the guard's neck. The object wiggled a bit, just brushing his adam's apple. The guard coughed a spurt of blood before face-planting into the floor. The nurses screamed bloody murder. 

Harley felt a shrill of panic when Zsasz stepped over the body with the brightest smile. Blood drenched his jumpsuit and covered his face in specks. He gripped a piece of glass in his right hand with chunks of the guard's flesh dangling. 

"Hey doll-face," Zsasz chirped. 

The nurses screamed even louder and backed into a corner. Harley tensed up, ready to spring into action. 

"Victor," Harley greeted warily. "Whatcha doin'?"

"Nothing," Zsasz snorted.

Harley was tempted to smack her lips at him, but the glass in his hand made her think twice. 

"Okay, here's a betta question," Harley continued. "What the hell's going on?"

"Right!" Zsasz snapped his fingers. "So, you know the sexy red head, right? She let me out of my cell to come find you. She wanted me to tell you to meet her downstairs in the lobby."

Ivy? In the lobby? But how? Inmates weren't allowed downstairs unless they were being committed, released or transferred. Harley gave it the old college try after damn Wayne Tech updated everything. It took her seven attempts before she gave up. 

"Now, I don't want to make assumptions or anything, but something tells me that the red head may have started the mass break-out. Could just me though...," Zsasz said suggestively. Harley gaped.

"A mass break-out? We haven't had one in months! How did she—"

"Enough chit chat, woman. I did my part, now you better run before SWAT starts piling in. And you know Batman is going to be right on their heels," Zsasz sighed dramatically. 

Harley looked over to the nurses cowering in the corner, faces stained with tears and fear. Zsasz was quick and very strong, strong enough to wind Batman a few times in the past. He was also bloodthirsty. She'd been wary of the excitement in his eyes after stabbing the guard to death.

Harley almost felt sorry for the nurses. 

"Alright, Mr. Stabby-stab, outta ma way," she responded, leaping off the bed. 

She easily brushed past Zsasz and into the hallway. The sounds of shrieking and Zsasz's psychotic laughter behind her paled in comparison to what was in front of her. 

Everything was frigging green. Plants and vines the width of her damn body _slithered_ all over the corridor, covering doors and windows in a mess of shrubbery. Harley felt like she was in a tunnel instead of a hallway, like she just magically waltzed into a children's book cover or something. 

"Holy hell," Harley muttered as she creeped forward. She jumped when a fucking plant retreated from her feet like a stray cat. 

This was far beyond anything she ever expected from Ivy. A silly part of her had imagine Ivy creating bush monsters or something, swamp creature-like experiments. Maybe even plant versions of bear traps, something extremely cartoonish.

Harley snorted. Now she knew why no one wanted to sit next to Ivy in the cafeteria. 

Ignoring the shouts of freed inmates and terrified guards, Harley came to the end of the hallway and bounded down the spiral stairway. She was mindful of vines and leaves slinking over the steps. From her peripheral, Harley could've sworn she saw a _man-size_ Venus fly trap hidden behind the rail and abundance of shrubs. 

She jumped the last few steps, landing fluidly on her feet. The lobby was no better than the hallway, giant mutant dandelions were piled up in every corner of the room. The check-in desk, just some twenty feet from the stairs, was completely demolished. A tree trunk the size of a semi-trailer had sprouted from the floor, pushing up against the foundation of the ceiling. Windows were completely shattered with vines creeping indoors. Harley was so amazed that she failed to notice the mangled bodies scattered all over the ground. 

"It's amazing what you can do with a few drops toxin." 

Harley gasped. Ivy had been in front of her the whole time, leaning against the double doorway, against Arkham's exit. She wasn't wearing the jumpsuit, instead scantily clad in what looked like a bunch of leaves to form a bikini. Her hair was more wild than ever before, almost like she hadn't brushed it in days, but oddly enough it was still flattering. 

Despite the unbelievable, unreal, downright _insane_ scenario she was in...she still blushed at Ivy's new get-up. 

"You did all this?" Harley asked, ignoring the heat in her cheeks. 

"Of course," Ivy said lightly. "I mean, a lot of this is just for show. I would've gone for a more...stealth execution, but you didn't seem impressed with what I had to offer as an inmate. This is mostly for your reassurance."

"My reassurance?" Harley repeated dumbly. "I—What? For What?"

"To prove I'm more than enough protection for the both of us," Ivy replied. "Of course, I wouldn't have been able to pull this off so seamlessly without our little friend."

Harley followed Ivy's gaze toward the ceiling. Instinct told her to stare at the tree trunk again, but she noticed something odd. The vines in the ceiling tangled and weaved like veins, and if Harley squinted hard enough it looked like they were...pulsing?

Harley followed one vine until it led her to what she could only describe as a mound of dry mud stuck to the ceiling. The surface appeared craggy with cracks. Harley noticed something between the cracks though, something that clearly did _not_ belong. 

The blonde guard. 

His face was mushed inside the mound, probably laying against the confines unconsciously. His skin appeared deathly pale. 

"I needed a host," Ivy said with no particular emotion. "This whole grandiose needed to consume some source of life, and he was a decent candidate." 

"Is he even alive?" Harley exclaimed. 

"Technically, yes. At this point he's just be brain-dead, and in a few hours his body will follow in toe. Which means we don't have much time," Ivy said, facing Harley now. 

"I'm giving you a choice," Ivy said. "You can come with me, be my partner or you can go off on your own. I'm assuming releasing the Joker will be your initial priority considering the latter. Either way, I'm leaving this place."

Would it be crazy to say that this was all happening just a bit fast? It's been awhile since Harley had to make snappy decisions under intense situations. The idea of going on her own without Joker or Ivy sounded enticing. Her relationship with Poison Ivy was still a work in the making, and who's to say that she won't get the same treatment as the blonde guard dying in the ceiling right now? As far as she knew, Ivy was probably anticipating her saying yes so she could use her and toss her away. 

And Harley would be damned before she came face to face with the Joker, not after that incident. She couldn't do it. 

But even if she were to go off on her own, she didn't have a game plan. She had nowhere to really lay low and think. Plus, Arkham would be all over Gotham News. Civilians, low-tier criminals and shitty cops would be on the look-out for her. 

Attraction didn't conflict with common sense, though. Ivy charmed her, but that didn't necessarily mean Harley should trust her. 

But at this point, what other options did she have, really? 

"I don't got much to lose, 'cept ma life," Harley finally said. "How do I know I won't end up like ol' buddy-boy on the freakin' ceiling, mm?"

"You won't, as long as you don't give me a reason," Ivy responded bluntly. "You're...interesting. Your loyalty is something I'd like to count on, if your alliance with the clown says as much. We'd make a unique pair." 

Harley gave Ivy a contemplative stare. They were just a few feet away from the entrance, away from freedom. 

Screw it.

"Poison Ivy and Harley Quinn, sounds like hella fun," Harley said, walking toward the double doors. "But, I think I'd like a new jester suit. I'm not keen on leaves for underwear, girly. And my old one has way too many memories of Mistah J. New me, new attitude." 

"Of course," Ivy said, following after her. 

Harley pushed the double doors open, taking a long whiff of fresh air for the first time in months. The sky was a rich violet blending into a warm orange. There was a cascade of stairs in front of her leading toward a circular driveway. Plant life tore down the barbed wired fences surrounding Arkham. At least Harley wouldn't have to worry about getting scratched up trying to clamber over the fence. 

"This is going to be an interesting start of a...friendship? _Criminal-ship_ , eh?" Harley nudged Ivy playfully. 

Though rare, Ivy did crack a smile to Harley's surprise, albeit, a very smug smile. Ivy took Harley's hand into hers, tugging her close, close enough to brush shoulders. Harley's cheeks lit up for the umpteenth time in a row. Ivy didn't do her any favors when she leaned in close, lips just barely grazing the shell of her ear. 

"And I can be a lot more fun than he ever could," Ivy murmured sensuously. 

.

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**Author's Note:**

> Summer has been pretty rough for me creatively, so this is sort of a "warm up" fic if you will. Hope you guys enjoy it. ;)
> 
> -P.S  
> Sorry if I made Harley a little OOC. I wanted something a little grim, so I felt like I needed to move away from her usually cheery persona. I didn't want to do the whole self cutting thing because it just felt...typical. And I don't mean to downplay that for anyone who has unfortunately experienced that, but I felt like something as aggressive as scratching would be more intense for her emotional state. And plus, it'd be a pain to explain how she was able to get her hands on a switchblade or knife in a top security asylum. Also, with story, I felt bummed out that romance wasn't crazy present (even though I'M the one writing it, LOL). I'm a slow-burner type of writer, so if I were to continue this, it would probably comes chaaaaapters later. Who knows, I might. ;)


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